When I was 24, I was alone in Bali on vacation (the above photo is one of the only ones I have left - my hard drive of photos crashed!). Several weeks before I arrived, there were two terrorists bombings back to back. Most tourists canceled their trips, but I didn't, believing it would not happen again (it didn't). Upon arrival, the first thing I noticed was the thickness of the warm, humid air. The second thing I noticed was that everyone seemed to stare at me. Without many other tourists around, I stood out everywhere I went.

​For the first time in my life, I walked into rooms, down streets, got on buses, and was the only white person. I woke up with a newly found awareness that I was different than everyone around me, and that they were aware I was different, and there was nothing I could do about that. I felt an awareness of myself as a white American, which I had never had to think about before because I had been living in a world centered around white Americans.
​
​Being in a world that didn't center around me threw me off and disoriented me in a way I couldn't handle. I crumbled like a leaf at the discomfort. After only a week, I was a total mess and I wanted to go home. I dreaded the idea that there was more to come, as I was supposed to continue onto Thailand and Laos from there.

I decided that I would call my friend Shawn, tell him how lonely I was, and let him tell me that yes, this was hard, and I should go home. I wanted someone to tell me my struggle was real and it was totally okay to not want to be there anymore. Shawn was the type of person who always knew what to say, and he had a wisdom and worldliness that I myself lacked.

I got out my calling card, pushed the thousand numbers it took to make an international call, and felt a wave of relief when he answered. I poured my heart out, cried, and complained about all the problems I was having. And then... silence. I waited for him to say something, for him to make it all better, but he was just silent for a long time.

Shawn, who grew up in the Caribbean, was at that time an illegal resident. He was living and working in California but unable to obtain citizenship. Shawn is Black and well aware of what it feels like to be in a world built around other people.

After the long pause, Shawn said, "I can't believe you would call me crying about this."

I was totally unprepared for this and asked him what he meant, to which he said, "You're in Bali, on a vacation. Do you know what would happen if I tried to leave and go on vacation? I would be deported. To be able to leave the US and know you can come back is a privilege. And do you know what else? I can't even take a vacation like that because I don't have that kind of money. I will never have an experience like that. Just to get here, and be in this country you were born into, took more than you'll ever know. You need to realize how lucky you are, stop crying, and appreciate where you are."

Shawn had never talked to me like that before. In fact, no one had ever talked to me like that before. Although it stung to hear, I knew what he was saying was true. I was embarrassed and humbled by everything he said.

All I could say was, "You're right. I'm sorry. You're so right."

I ended the call knowing something inside of me had changed. I no longer fought back tears at every moment. I stopped looking at what was challenging and started seeing the beauty of everything around me. And when I went to Thailand and found I was even more alone, and it was even harder, I didn't cry or call anyone complaining. Not because I was rejecting my feelings and forcing myself not to, but because something in me really had changed.

When I look back on that phone call, I can see now how it reflected the mindset of a white person raised in a dominant white culture (AKA a system of white supremacy).

​I called Shawn thinking he would agree with me, as if my problems are universal and everyone in the world shares my perspective. I was completely centered in my own world view and unaware there were perspectives outside my own. I did not consider that what I had was something other people couldn't have. I did not consider that what I had was something obtained through not only my privilege, but the privilege accumulated from my ancestry. I did not consider that I was calling a Black man, who lives in a world built for white people, and that my two weeks of discomfort from feeling different were nothing in comparison to what he lives with every day. I did not consider that my problems weren't even problems, and that because I had never had to face real adversity, I was melting down over nothing. I was not in danger. I wasn't about to be homeless and starving. I was uncomfortable and I couldn't handle it.

Calling a person to tell them about my struggle while completely ignoring the much bigger struggle they are dealing with, that's assholery. That is a privileged mindset in a nutshell. It's also embarrassing, and it still embarrasses me.

Yes, I was struggling at that time. I was lonely and hurting. But as my friend pointed out, I was also having an incredible once in a lifetime experience. My ignorance blinded me to this other perspective. I could only see my own point of view, and in doing so, I asked someone to use their energy to make me feel better without considering what they themselves needed.

That phone call in Bali, that was not the last time I had to say I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm listening. It was not the last time someone told me I was problematic. It was simply the first, and for that reason, it sticks out in my mind like a sharp tack.

Hearing feedback, learning, growing, and being uncomfortable, these are things I will go through for the rest of my life. Being told I was privileged didn't "cure" me. It wasn't the end of my learning. In fact, it was only the beginning. A lifetime of social conditioning does not unwind over night. It takes years. Years and years. And yes, that's work. But this is not the kind of work that's a drudgery. This is the kind of work that, for us white people (and many Non-Black People of Color), restores our humanity and eases the suffering of others. I can't imagine anything more worth our time or energy.

On a side note, I recently saw the friend who I had called that day in Bali. It's been about 12 years since that conversation and I wondered if he remembered. He said, "Of course I do. I couldn't believe you would do that." I still can't believe it either. But I am forever grateful he still wanted to be friends after that. He was a true friend, and I know this because a true friend will hold a mirror up to you and show you who you really are. They won't tell you what you want to hear to make you comfortable. They will tell you what you need to hear.

​I didn't like what I saw in the mirror that day, and if that's where you are too, the solution is not to break the mirror. The solution is to change what's being reflected.

​If you are looking for resources to change your own perspective, here are some starting places:

• The Great Unlearn
• Me & White Supremacy
• White Fragility
• The 30 Day Ally Guide by Glo

A WORKBOOK BY GLORIA ATANMO 

If you've been looking for a resource to help you explore allyship, or you're looking for something to share with friends who don't know where to begin, I highly recommend checking out the ally resource guide put together by Gloria Atanmo, better known as Glo.

This resource is chalk full of videos, quotes, journal prompts, and more. I cannot begin to tell you how much thought, care, energy, and emotion was put into this. It's only $27 and available here.

I love it so much I've decided to put together a group of local allies who would like to discuss it with me. When I put the request out for people to join, I was surprised by how many people were looking for a space to connect, discuss and feel supported at this time. This might be something you would like to do also. If so, stay tuned! I'll be giving updates on creating an ally support group as I go forward and learn more.

​If you get the 30 Days & 30 Ways resource and you end up doing it alone, I welcome you to email or message me at any time. I'm on Instagram here and I am always available for support, connection, and conversation.

I first became aware of Amanda through the HBO show Insecure. Along with being an actress, she's also a comedian, host, author, podcaster, and dropper of truths. Her Instagram is one of my favorites for daily doses of wisdom, insight, and self-love. She is a brilliant, beautiful, proud Black woman, and I hope you'll go give her a follow!

I've put out the first edition of my new newsletter, which has been rebuilt from the ground up. You can read it here, which includes a little story about a historic Black Lives Matter rally I was a part of. You will also see a button there for subscribing if you choose to do so. Thank you for being a part of this historic and powerful movement with me!

​As the protests against racism and white supremacy have swept across the country, I have seen many people (mostly White) focusing on one thing: how awful it is that people are looting and rioting. Considering the fact that protests are ongoing in all fifty states, and many of them go day and night, the average amount of people engaging in violence or looting is less than 1%. Yes, truly. At any given time, tens of thousands of people are actively protesting peacefully in each major city (see example videos below). If you would like to see this live you can find ongoing coverage on Twitter. 

​So if 99% of protests are peaceful, why does so much of the national conversation keep going back to the looting? Why does the news focus on it? It may seem like the natural order of things that people want to talk about the rioting, even if it's a small percent, but it actually gets into much deeper issues that are at the heart of all of this - implicit bias, guilt, and a resistance to talk about our country's history.

Before we get into our conversation about this, I need to make something clear: I am not condoning the rioting or looting. I am writing this to break down why it's the only thing some people want to see. And if you're not one of the people obsessively talking about it, I encourage you to keep reading anyway. It will help you to understand those that are and how deeply ingrained our social conditioning is.

I've broken the discussion up into six parts. Let's dive in.

​Number One:

Throughout American history, Black men, women, and children have been falsely stereotyped as being excessively violent. We, as White people (and some Non-Black People of Color), have painted a narrative of Black Americans as born criminals who must actively resist their violent nature in order to exist in society.

By focusing on the rioting and looting, we are reinforcing this painful, wrong, and intentionally hurtful false stereotype. It also reinforces our own implicit biases without putting any responsibility on ourselves to question why we're so obsessed with the minority of people who are being violent.

At this time, it is more important than ever that we emphasize the humanity of Black Americans. Black Americans are asking us to realize we have stripped them of the right to feel human and we need to do better NOW. To do better, we must stop sharing stories that reinforce stereotypes and our own bias.

Bottom line: Focusing on the rioting reinforces our implicit biases and keeps certain White people (and some Non-Black People of Color), in their comfortable and familiar narrative.

Number Two:

By focusing on the looting, we absolve ourselves from having to ask the deeper questions. Why are Black Americans in so much pain and so angry they want to burn this country down? What are we, as White People (and some Non-Black People of Color), doing to cause that anger? In what ways have each one of us contributed to the pain in the hearts of Black Americans?

Basically, to talk about the looting gives us a way out of acknowledging that we feel guilty. Rather than admitting we're uncomfortable talking about the pain and anger we've caused, we find something else to point at. We see a Black Woman pouring her heart out in a video, asking us how it's possible we didn't see the oppression. We see a Black Man talking about the fear he feels every time he leaves his house. This is hard to hear, because we have all ignored these truths our whole lives, and rather than admit we're complicit, we say "Look at the fire! Look at the broken windows! Look there! Look there!"

Bottom line: Many White people (and some Non-Black People of Color) are looking for ways to justify not doing the anti-racist work.

Number Three:

If we're constantly sharing photos of broken windows and burned cars, we don't have to look at our own race and hold White people accountable. Once again, we let ourselves off the hook while pointing our finger elsewhere. There is a growing body of evidence that many riots were started by White people. Because this is so prevalent, Black protestors have begun filming them doing it in order to show who's really starting this (see below).

To get even deeper into this, read into the mysterious pile of bricks that show up at protest locations. They are being put there by extremist White groups to intentionally cause mayhem.

​Many people will take this point and say, maybe some Whites did start it, but I saw Black people doing it! This has been addressed in points one and two. Basically, a need to confirm our own bias and an inability to ask deeper questions is why so many White people (and some Non-Black People of Color) would rather talk about the riots than the messed up system we live in.

Bottom line: Most of us are so uncomfortable holding White people accountable we'll talk about anything EXCEPT our own people.

Here are some examples of White people intentionally hijacking the protests for their own disturbing agendas: ​​

Number 4

The majority of protestors are overwhelmingly peaceful. In order to understand why people want to focus on the violence rather than the peaceful protests, we must revisit points 1, 2 and 3.

Bottom line: We have a choice what stories we amplify. Which ones we share and talk about speaks volumes about who we really are.

​Number 5

Talking about the looting is a way of making it about us. It's a way to make White people the victims. It's a way to center ourselves in the conversation. This is known as "White Centering" and is a well researched and documented social phenomenon. Essentially, we White people are so used to seeing ourselves at the center of every issue, we subconsciously find ways to put ourselves there even when it's not about us.

In order to understand this more fully, I suggest any books that dive into race and identity. Some good ones are Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria and Race Talk and the Conspiracy of Silence.

This point also ties into point two - which is that we don't want to acknowledge the pain in the Black community. Rather than talk about the hundreds of years of oppression and injustice we have caused, we find it easier to somehow make ourselves the victims in all of this.

​Bottom line: White identity is socially constructed to see itself at the center of all issues. If we're not in the center, we'll find a way to get there.

Number 6

African people were kidnapped from their homes, enslaved, and worked to death in order to build this country. Our societies are built upon their bodies. And if we're really going to get real, we need to address that their bodies were laid on top of the Indigenous communities we decimated to clear the way.

​The discomfort of looking at how this country was founded is so overwhelming, we as White people will do anything to shift the narrative onto something else. This ties into all of the points above. So long as we can use distractions to avoid this conversation, we can absolve ourselves, paint everyone else out to be violent, disregard any deep inner reflection, keep the status quo, and feel like we're still the heroes at the center of it all.

​Bottom line: We have yet to acknowledge or own up to our own history of violence. White people have done and continue to do unforgivable things. Talking about anything else is a means of intentional deflection. 

Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash

When it comes to healing the racial wounds that divide this country into the oppressed and the oppressor, the thing that comes up time and time again as a means to healing is dialogue. We need to talk. And we, as White people, need to listen.

And more importantly, we need to listen when people are expressing their anger. As I have read the accounts of different Black Americans, the thing I continually hear is White Americans only want to listen when it's comfortable. We must be spoken to in soft, calming tones. We want to be reassured we're good people. We want to be told things aren't that bad, and it's okay to let time heal this. We don't want to be made aware of the sense of urgency the Black community lives with.

We, the White people, must be treated like fragile glass eggs that could break at any second. We must not be made aware of the deep residing pain that develops within Black Americans as they live with the daily struggles of racism - from both micro and macro aggressions.

White Americans are uncomfortable with the anger of Black men and women for many reasons. It makes us feel guilty. It makes us afraid we'll respond wrong and be labeled racist (this is a reflection of how much we make this about ourselves). It makes us afraid because we have internalized false biases about how Black people are naturally more violent (if you believe this, we need to have an even longer discussion RIGHT NOW). And on a deeper level, we don't want these inherently cruel and patently wrong prejudices to be surfaced, because again, that would make us look bad.

On average, White people want to see things change without having to acknowledge that people are angry. Because if we see the anger, then we see the pain, and if see the pain, we must admit things have been bad for a very, very long time and we have done nothing for a very, very long time.

A Black man's life, in his own words:

The above example features many of the micro aggressions that Black Americans experience on a daily basis. For the most part, a lot of the protests have revolved around the macro aggression - the open killing of unarmed Black people.

However, when we are only moved to action by the overt racism, we are looking at the waterfall while ignoring the gushing river leading up to it. Yes, the waterfall catches our attention. But it's the powerful current of water behind it that causes it.

This current shows up as daily forms of insidious judgement, prejudice, and demeaning behavior. The problem is, as White Americans, we don't see it. Below are two powerful example of this. You didn't see these things happen. And if there weren't videos, would you believe they did? I have left the caption in so the Black people who experienced it can speak about it in their own words.

The above videos are an example of what it means to be labeled by White Americans as "other" in this country. To be Black is to constantly encounter people who think you don't belong. You must constantly prove your right and your worthiness to exist. Make no mistake - these videos are not isolated incidents (as Team Top Figure noted in their caption). It was just the one time they decided to film it happening. Imagine how exhausting that would be. How infuriating it would be. How you would see this happening to not just you, but your friends, your family, and your community. How it would get under your skin and inside your head - is it me? Am I imagining this? Why don't White people do something to stop this?

Along with the micro and macro aggresions, there's something in between this. A sort of national complacency that allows a deeply racist man to own a NBA team with a mostly Black roster (Donald Sterling). It's what allows us to make folk heroes out of men like Cliven Bundy. In 2014, Bundy held an armed standoff in Nevada to oppose government overreach. Bundy, who is a source of inspiration for many White Americans, said this about the Black community, "They abort their young children, they put their young men in jail, because they never learned how to pick cotton. And I've often wondered, are they better off as slaves?"

Donald Sterling and Cliven Bundy are only the tip of iceberg. The fact is, we as White people have a long history of idealizing and elevating racist people into positions of power and influence. The most glaring example is of course our current president (to understand this begin with his role in the Central Park 5). But as I pointed out in the two examples above, it's not just the man at the top. He's just the one we are all aware of. Racist people hold positions of power, from city council to landlords to middle managers, in every corner of this country. As a White person, this can be hard to see, because to us they appear neutral. There is no negative impact for us. Nothing forces you or I to acknowledge their existence. And so we don't.

You add all of that up, plus all the things I didn't get into (there is so much more) and yes, there is a lot to be angry about. And adding to the anger is the fact that, as a Black person, your anger is considered inappropriate and unwanted. If you're Black and talking about your life, your children, or your community, you're not allowed to express any emotion. Don't yell. Don't glare. Don't get tense. Be as soft and tender as possible. Make us feel safe.

The bottom line is, asking Black people to talk about racism while demonizing their anger is akin to emotional torture. It's a brutal way of negating someone's experience. It's a direct blow to someone's right to feel in response to the world around them. It's a form of silencing people who need to be heard more than ever.

And so I leave you with last one video. This one might make you uncomfortable. It might bring up all kinds of stories and biases. It might make you want to return to the words and voices softened for your comfort. Keep watching. Resist any urges to project onto them how they "should" act or what you would do. We, as White people, do not experience racism. We have no idea how it feels. We have no place to say how anyone should respond to it. Our only place is to listen and understand this is but a glimpse of the emotional weight Black Americans carry every day.

Photo at top by Nicole Baster on Unsplash

​When white people talk about a person of color in a movie, they will often identify that person by their race or ethnicity. "I really like the black woman, she's..." or "Why did that one guy do that? You know, the Asian one..." We, as white people, are well aware of other people's race and use it as a way to identify them. When we speak about our fellow white people, however, we rarely, if ever, identify them as being white. "The tall woman..." or "The one on the phone."

For us, as white people, we do not see whiteness as a means of description. In our minds, to be white is to exist. To describe the "white woman" or the "white man" wouldn't make sense because, at any given time, we are surrounded by white people and that could mean just about anyone. To white people, we are not a part of a race. We just are.

When it is pointed out that we are in fact part of a racial group, we, as white people, tend to cringe with internal discomfort. We don't like to be thought of as a collective. We like to see ourselves as individuals, free of the constraints of racial identity.

Part of the reason being a member of the white race makes us so uncomfortable is because we know that, historically, a white group was often an angry mob, a conqueror, a system of terror. The white race is associated with the colonization of Native lands (the US, Australia, South Africa, India, etc.), genocide, the KKK, white supremacy, and so on. And not to mention the millions of whites who still, in present times, consider the white race to be superior. To be a part of the white group, the white race, means we are a part of a group that causes inexplicable pain (when I say "white race" I mean as a social concept - there is no biological white race). 

On the other hand, when we as whites identify with the white individual, we connect ourselves with heroes. There is no shortage of white people (mostly men who are straight and able bodied, but that's another conversation), who we feel have contributed valiantly to politics, medicine, art, and science. We loathe the idea of being lumped in with the white race but love the idea of being white individuals. We even fantasize about being the next great white hero, the next Steve Jobs, Tony Robbins, Bill Gates, Marie Curie, Susan B. Anthony, and so on.

We wonder what contribution we'll make, how we'll be remembered, and how our legacy, as the individual we are, will be memorialized.

However, to not identify with a race is something only whites are allowed to do. We can choose to ignore our racial identity because we see whiteness everywhere (the government, tv, movies, CEOs, writers, our neighborhood, restaurants, work, etc). It feels like the norm, and we've internalized it as the norm, thereby negating our need to identify it, because to be white is to just be. Whiteness defines the Western human experience.

​It is so interwoven into the society white Europeans built that we (as white people) don't even realize it's there. Which leads us to believe it's not necessary to acknowledge it, or to claim we're a part of it. For many white people, they would say a part of what? And in that question, they unwillingly acknowledge that society is so intertwined with the white experience that there is no place where they end and everything else begins. You can't acknowledge something you can't see. But, just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not there. In fact, brown and black people will readily tell you that they see where the white race begins and ends. They see what it means to be white. And because we, as white people, are so used to seeing ourselves everywhere, it's a shock when someone points out that because whiteness has no end, because it so deeply pervades society, it is actively erasing everything that exists beyond its borders.

In other words, to be brown or black is to be invisible. It is to be outside the scope of what we've deemed human existence is. 

Its is only us white people, who cannot perceive of ourselves the way everyone else does, who see our skin color as so universal, so standard, so equated with the very concept of humanity, that we don't even realize that our whiteness is intertwined with the reality we're living. We rarely, if ever, reflect on what it means to be a person of color and interacting with the white race.

In order to root out systematic racism, we as white people must acknowledge the reason it makes us so uncomfortable to be thought of as a white race or a white group. And in acknowledging this, we must come to terms with how other people see us, as white people dominating a diverse world.

As we've talked about so far, we white people prefer to be defined as individuals. That's what we've been socialized to believe we are. And so when we enter a room with people of color, we don't register why our presence would make anyone there uncomfortable. In our minds, we project onto them our individual qualities. We think they see a person who is kind. Or a person who is funny. A person who is warm and loving.

However, upon looking at me, or you, or anyone else who is white, there is no way to know who you are individually. What you are, to people who don't know you, is a white person. You may be racist. You may not be. You might be a white supremacist. Or you might not be. You might wish harm onto people of color. Or maybe not. How can anyone tell by looking at you?

We as white people must realize that although our intentions are good, we are part of a race of people that calls the cops on a black family having a bbq. We are part of a race of people who calls the cops on two black men sitting in Starbucks, waiting for a meeting to start. We are part of a race of people who have been caught on video killing black people.

Therefore, we must acknowedlge that although we believe ourselves to be good people, when we walk into a room, down a street, or get on a bus, there's no way to know whether or not we're the next Karen. There's no way to know if we're about to exert terror on an unsuspecting person of color.

There. Is. No. Way. To. Know.

As I learned about identity, racism, and where I stood in it all, it was hard to reconcile the public perception many people hold of me with my private self. To come to realize my presence caused people anxiety and uncertainty was something I wanted to deny. Surely not me. Them, yes. But not me. And that is me returning to my insistence that I be seen as an individual, and not a member of the white race.

And now you might be thinking That's not fair! I'm not racist! I'm a GOOD person!

All I can say is, now you are beginning to understand how it feels to be judged for your skin color. But make no mistake - the way white people are judged is incomparable to the way people of color are judged. You will not be killed for being white. You will not have a police officer kneel on your neck with his hands in his pockets, casually strangling the life out of you. You will not lose out on jobs, housing, or loans because you are white.

Rather, you will benefit. Being white is not going to derail your life. It's going to accelerate it (many people refuse to hear this point because discrimination is illegal. Legality does not stop people from committing crimes. If it did we would not have robbers and rapists. People break the law all the time. The only way to stop discrimination is to stop racism).

We may not like that we are a race, and one of the main reasons we don't is we've never had to think of ourselves that way. Generalizing and grouping people by race is thus far something that has been done by white people and not to them. We exempted ourselves and therefore respond with anger, defensiveness, and wounded pride when it's done to us. When we are asked to see ourselves as white, our knee jerk reaction is to claim we are not racist. We're not like those people. We're different. We're an individual. We proclaim this with pride, without a hint of irony that our insistence on being seen as an individual, rather than a member of a socially constructed race, can only be done if we grant ourselves special privileges no other race has.

For more on this I highly recommend the book Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria (make sure you get the updated version - the first edition was published two decades ago). This series will be continued with part 3 - what does it mean to be a good ally?

When Michelle met with a group of teenage girls, one of them asked her how she feels about transitioning back to her normal life. How would Michelle navigate the leap from First Lady back to the life she was living before? How would she get back on track?

I love this quote because so many of us are currently in a place of transition. Due to the current circumstances, many of us are facing the reality that we cannot do, or don't want to do, what we've been doing. We're also acknowledging that life won't be like it was before, and we have to create a new track. Considering what it would be like to go from the all-consuming role as First Lady onto a completely new, unknown role, inspired me to embrace the unknown and the new with courage and integrity.

In a later group meeting with young black women (Michelle speaks often in the film about her passion for working with the youth), Rayven asked a powerful question:

One thing I loved about this film was how open Michelle was about racial inequality in this country. It's something she wasn't able to speak so directly to while she was First Lady. And I also love how she empowered each one of those women with her words. She didn't ask them to wait for something outside of them to change. She asked them to change their circumstances within while at the same time acknowledging we are not on an even playing field. This is so important because I see so many people who say the first part - change begins within. But they don't do the second part, which is to validate the affect that oppression and bias has.

"I have high expectations of young people. It's the same expectations my family had of me. My grandfather, Dandy, expected us to be great. But he went through life being underestimated. Growing up, he was a brilliant young man, somebody that loved to read books, to delve into things in a deep and meaningful way. He could have been a professor. He could have been a doctor. But because of race and class, he couldn't get into colleges. He didn't have the money or the resources. And imagine walking around with all this ability and the world telling you, "No. No, you're not good enough. No, you're not ready." Watching people half your intelligence being promoted past you. Watching opportunities slip away, Not because you're not able, but because nobody thinks you deserve it.That caused him a lot of disappointment and anger. That made him push us to be better." - Michelle Obama, Becoming

Of all the quotes in the movie, this one stood out to me the most. It struck me not only because of the anger I would feel if I was Dandy's granddaughter, but because this is still the world we live in. We still promote people based on the fact that they fit an inner ideal of what we think a successful person should look like. Until we tear down all our prejudices, we will continue to all lose out on the brilliance and ingenuity of so many of our fellow citizens.

"I ended up going to Princeton. I was one of a handful of minority students. It was the first time in my life where I stood out like that. I learned that one of my roommates moved out because her mother was horrified that I was black. She felt her daughter was in danger. I wasn't prepared for that." - Michelle Obama, Becoming

This quote also stood out to me above all the others. If someone couldn't live with me because my skin color made them afraid, and I was a young girl, finding my place in the world, I wouldn't know what to do. Can you imagine the impact that would have on a young, developing psyche? And as with the quote above, this is still the reality of the world we live in. No one should have to question their worthiness or their humanity because of the ignorance of another person.

This was one of the last quotes I noted. I had about six other quotes highlighted, which I cut because I wanted to end with this one. What stands out to me about this quote is the reminder that Obama filled arenas on hope. It's such a powerful reminder because I so often see our current president filling arenas based on anger, division, and bullying. I had forgotten that not long ago, hundreds of thousands of people also filled arenas, and on a message of hope and unity. Those people are still out there. And if, after all she's been through, Michelle can still believe in the goodness of people and this country, then I can too.

I wish I could have put down all the quotes from the film I'd saved. There were so many moments I paused, reflected on her words, and thought about the class and gracefulness she brought to everything she did and does. But the thing that really surprised me was how funny Michelle is. We all know she has a brilliant mind and an inspiring, forward thinking spirit. What I had never seen before was how funny and charismatic she is. 

Becoming is available to stream on Netflix. I hope you get a chance to see it also! And now I'm off to download the audio book because I love hearing author's tell me their story in their own voice.